


The world is your canvas

by semicolonsandsimiles



Category: Dreamer Trilogy - Maggie Stiefvater, Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Bakery and Coffee Shop, Coffee Shops, F/M, First Meetings, Flirting, Fluff, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:13:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24371851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/semicolonsandsimiles/pseuds/semicolonsandsimiles
Summary: Declan gets a job at a coffee shop because it's normal and boring. He doesn't expect to encounter a woman making art out of the pastries.
Relationships: Jordan/Declan Lynch
Comments: 7
Kudos: 30
Collections: TRC/ CDTH Prompt Week 2020





	The world is your canvas

**Author's Note:**

> For day 1 of TRC/Dreamer Trilogy Prompt week - Flower Shop/ Tattoo AU/Coffee Shop AU

“We’ve filled the baker position already, I’m afraid,” the owner - Persephone - said without preamble. She drifted into the seat across from Declan at the small two-seater table in a corner of the coffee shop. “We have a few other openings, if you’re interested?”

“I’d be interested if there’s anything on the same shift. That works best with my schedule.” Declan retreated into vague interview-speak. He wasn’t sure how _I need to schedule around my internship on the Hill_ would go down in a Bohemian-looking place like this. Probably not very well. 

For that matter, Declan wasn’t sure how he himself would go down here. He gave himself credit for knowing better than to wear anything resembling a suit, at least. But dark wash jeans, white buttondown, and exquisitely tooled loafers was probably still too straight-laced for this environment.

Persephone, for example, wore a floaty sundress and combat boots. Long white-blond hair floated loose around her face in a style that certainly didn’t meet the health codes. To be fair, she wasn’t in the kitchen. When Declan had come in the day before to pick up an application he’d met the other owner, Gwenllian, who dressed in probably at least five layers of skirts and dresses and tops. And combat boots. 

Maybe the combat boots were mandatory. Declan didn’t fit in here, but that was the point. No one who worked in his office was likely to get their coffee here.

“We do need help with opening.” Persephone shuffled through the pile of papers in front of her and handed one to Declan. “Here’s the job description. Ignore where it says 10 hours per week. You’ll have plenty of opportunities to pick up weekend shifts once you’re trained.”

Declan didn’t really need more than 10 hours, anyway. He realized most people in his position wouldn’t bother with a wage-paying job at all, but Declan was cautious. Inheritances were finite. Emergencies happened - the inheritance itself served as a reminder of that. And anyway, barista was the most cliche of college student jobs. It helped him seem as normal as possible.

“Looks straightforward enough,” he said, setting the paper down. “I have experience --” 

Persephone cut him off. “Oh, this isn’t an interview. You weren’t scared off by Gwenllian, and you aren’t put off by my haphazard administration --” she shook the unruly pile of papers -- “so you should get on just fine.” She examined him intently. Declan squirmed internally; he wasn’t here for someone to learn anything _important_ about him. 

“Besides,” Persephone went on, apparently unaware of his discomfort, “you look punctual. We could use some more punctuality around here.”

* * *

His first day was not going well. Declan applied more elbow grease to the infernally sticky substance on the table. They were supposed to open in ten minutes and he hadn’t even begun setting things up behind the counter. He probably should have started with that.

Persephone floated out of the kitchen door and over to him. “Again?” she asked, pressing a finger to the spot. “I’m beginning to suspect that someone is attempting to lacquer this table. Perhaps we’re undoing their hard work.”

“Perhaps they should lacquer their own table.” Declan did his best to sound pleasant, but there was only so much you could do this early. He was pretty sure the grumble came through.

“Perhaps I’ll give them this one,” Persephone said serenely. “Go help Jordan get the pastries into the display case, would you? I think I remember the fastest way to get this stuff off.”

Declan went. He didn’t know who Jordan was, but there was only one person in the kitchen when he got there.

The woman -- Jordan -- bent over a tray of cookies, pastry bag in hand. Somehow she exuded an air of intense concentration even though her back was to him. The mass of dark curls on top of her head was doing its utmost to break free of the hairnet. The edge of a bright purple tattoo peeked around her neck.

Around her sat trays of other baked goods. Scones and muffins and quick breads, some unadorned, some artfully drizzled with glaze. Fruit- and cream-filled pastries with intricate latticework on their tops. Cream puffs gracefully shaped to look like swans. 

Another tray of cookies, these already frosted. Each displayed a miniature of the D.C. skyline, but no two were exactly alike. Some depicted daytime, others night. There were sunrises and/or sunsets in varying colors. One cookie showed a thunderstorm; another depicted a sky awash in stars, as if all the lights in the city had been turned off. On another, a tiny Spiderman scaled the side of the Washington Monument.

“Damn,” Declan said under his breath. He had _definitely_ not been qualified for the baker position.

“What’s that, mate?” Jordan said, turning. She had not only the bright purple tattoo, but equally bright blue, pink, green, orange, all standing out against her dark skin. An entire garden of blooms grew over her throat and collarbones. The glint in her eye suggested she’d heard him the first time.

Declan recovered himself. “These are amazing,” he said, gesturing at the cookies. “Please tell me you practice your art on more permanent canvases, too.”

“Nothing shameful about the bakery arts,” Jordan retorted, just the right amount of solemn so that Declan was _almost_ sure she was messing with him, but not certain.

“Of course not,” he replied, trying to match her level of solemnity. “I’m just saying, I would hang one of those on my wall.”

Jordan picked up the cookie with the starry sky and gently tapped the frosting. Apparently satisfied with whatever she found, she opened a drawer and pulled out a small plastic bag and a piece of ribbon and packaged the cookie with them. She dropped the cookie package into the chest pocket on Declan’s apron.

“There you are, mate,” she said. “Don’t know how you’ll manage hanging it, but you can prop it on a shelf at least.”

This reminded Declan that he should be moving trays of pastries. “Thanks,” he said. “Uh, I’m assuming you’re Jordan? Persephone sent me to help put stuff in the display case.”

Jordan looked him over. Her eyes lingered on his shoes, for some reason. “Sure thing, new guy,” she said. “Declan, right? You can start carrying and I’ll be done with this last tray in a tick.” 

Declan began carefully shuttling the trays to the front. True to her word, Jordan joined when he was about halfway through. Silently, they finished filling the display cases.

“You working the front with me today?” Jordan asked, as she slid the last tray into place.

“My shift’s over, actually. Just doing opening for now.” Declan was surprised to find he was disappointed by this.

“Bummer,” Jordan said, “I wanted you around to admire my latte art.” She leaned one arm on the counter, and tapped her fingernails against it. “How do you feel about art exhibitions?”

“Depends on the art.”

“Well, if you want to see my art hanging on a wall, you’ll like the one I’m thinking of. Runs tonight through Saturday.”

“Yeah?” Declan asked, trying to sound excited but not as overeager as he felt. “Where is it?”

Jordan straightened up from the counter like she’d made a decision. She stepped closer and looked up at him. “I’ll tell you,” she said, circling a thumb and forefinger around his wrist, “when you pick me up from mine.”

“I’d like--” Declan began. His brain caught up with his hormones. “Um, is there not a rule about taking your coworkers on dates?”

Jordan snorted. “Have you _met_ management? Also, Persephone always helps me with those trays. More than a slight chance of matchmaking there, I’d say.”

Declan grinned at her. “In that case, I’d very much like that.”

She let go of his wrist to retrieve her phone from an apron pocket. “Drop your digits in there. I’ll ring you when I require my arm candy.”

“Arm candy, huh?”

“You heard me. Maybe I’ll paint you one of these days.”


End file.
